


Important Part Of This Family

by Wolfcry22



Series: Shame [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John Winchester Bashing, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Nosebleed, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sam Winchester is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27522265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfcry22/pseuds/Wolfcry22
Summary: John claims that he’s an important part of the Winchester family and Dean is going to do anything in his power to prove him wrong. (Based on a scene from the TV show Shameless)
Series: Shame [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883236
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	Important Part Of This Family

**Author's Note:**

> This is another part of this verse and it’s going to combine a couple scenes together. It should stretch across season 2 especially when Frank is yelling at Fiona and Ian that he’s an important part of the family. I can see John doing that with Dean and Sam in a fit of rage and I wanted to show that to the best of my ability. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Warning for violence, language, referenced alcohol/drug abuse, domestic abuse, and possibly triggering themes

Dean sat perched on the bed, feet sore from his latest job shoveling peoples’ driveways. It wasn’t terrible work and the pay was pretty good since it seemed to snow in Colorado almost constantly, which meant it was also a steady stream of income too. It wasn’t hunting, but at least this honest job paid the motel bill and kept Sam fed. Dean would happily shovel snow for the rest of his life it meant that Sam could focus on school and hopefully make something of himself eventually. He feared that may not be the case soon since their father had just wrapped up a case and that meant another move in the middle of the school year when Sam had finally been able to make some friends. However, none of that mattered to John; he only cared about finding the yellow eyed demon and drinking to forget. Those were the two things that he was actually good at.

Besides Dean on the opposite bed sat Sam. He had his nose buried in some textbook that Dean would’ve used as a doorstop. He would never understand Sam’s fascination with learning, but he supposed that it was better than following in their father’s footsteps. Dean had never been that good at school and he often woke up in the middle of the night gasping when the thought of him turning into his father plagued him. As much as Dean wanted to believe that he wasn’t going to turn into John, the possibility came more and more real everyday now that he had dropped out of school to work and support the ragtag family in anyway possible.

The sound of a door being slammed caught Dean’s attention, pulling him to the height of alertness while his jaw ticked in frustration.

“Dad’s home,” muttered Sam, watching as John fumbled through the small room, feet dragging and arms acting like wet noodles as they slammed into things with more force than Dean would’ve thought possible from their father at almost 11 at night.

Dean reached over and patted Sam’s knee. “I’ll take care of it,” he began as he slipped off the bed.

The moment his feet hit the shag carpet, Dean felt his chilled feet instantly curl. He swore under his breath as he made his way forward when he saw John making a beeline to the kitchen. Anger rose inside of Dean when he watched John beginning to rifle through their own meager supply of food. Dean had worked too hard for John just to waltz in after doing nothing and shovel food in his mouth. If John wanted to eat then he had to pull his own weight in Dean’s opinion.

“No,” Dean growled, swiping a loaf of bread from his father’s hands after he watched his father’s fingers attempt to pull the plastic over the thin slices of bread. 

John gave him an indigent look, bloodshot eyes struggling to focus. Dean scoffed in distain. “Are you high,” he challenged. Lately John had been experimenting with drugs and that had bothered Dean to no end.

“Fuck off,” growled John, making a grab for the bread again.

Dean pulled it back, holding it high over his shoulder almost to his ear. His other hand was outstretched toward John’s chest, ready to push him back at any moment. “You want something to eat? Try actually pitching in every once in a while, huh?!”

John’s lip curled, revealing painfully yellow teeth. His expression sent a shiver down Dean’s spine, but he fought to stand his ground no matter what his father did. “Ungrateful brat,” John spat.

His retort barely fazed Dean. He had been called much worse. Besides, he had long since stopped caring about what his father thought of him. John’s opinion mattered about as much as a stranger’s thoughts of him, possibly even less. At least a stranger may not want to tear him and Sam down for the fun of it.

“You can think whatever the hell you want to, but you’re not eating, at least until you sober up.” Dean spun the bag of bread around and set it on the counter. There was barely enough bread to make a meal for him and Sam, especially since Sam had been eating so much recently. Dean had tried to ration the food as much as possible and often allowed Sam to eat his share while he was hungry for the night. Dean was getting used to drinking as much water as possible to curb the hunger pains. He would be damned if he just allowed John to take what he pleased when Dean was nearly starving himself just to provide for his brother while working a full time job and making sure that Sam was taken care of.

Suddenly, a hand gripped Dean’s shoulder and a fist clocked him in the jaw. Dean was too stunned to react for a moment, stumbling back against the countertop. Pain spread through his jaw all the way to the back of his neck. His stun gaze locked on John, who appeared absolutely feral in front of him with fire in his eyes that seemed to invite the challenge that was brewing in Dean’s heart. 

Dean tried to storm past John, knowing that it wasn’t worth it to get into an altercation with John when he was clearly not in his right mind. Before he could get far, John lunged forward and picked him up by the shoulders and slammed him into the fridge. Dean gasped in surprise, body writhing as he tried to kick out his legs towards John. John only tightened his grip and slammed him over and over against the fridge until the breath was knocked out of his eldest. Dean hadn’t had much energy before this, but now he was practically sucked dry of any strength he may have possessed.

“Fucking stop it,” cried Sam, lunging for John and pulling hard on his elbow before his fist could collide with Dean again.

John struggled to overpower Sam. He was almost 18 and he was nearly as strong as Dean. 

A growl rose from John as he raised his elbow and reeled back, colliding it harshly with Sam’s face. Sam stumbled back, momentarily stunned as blood began to gush from his nose thanks to the impact of the blow. He fell flat on his back, breath coming in ragged gasps as he coughed in surprise. 

“Sam!”

An explosive spark of determination pulsed through Dean. It was enough for him to rip himself out of John’s grasp and swipe his legs out from under him. John fell back on the ground, grunting in surprise as his body arched when he tried to sit back up straight.

Dean was on him in a moment, pummeling his fists against any piece of flesh that he could find. He punched John’s face, his chest, his stomach, and his arms. Dean’s knuckles began to burn in pain, but Dean couldn’t have cared less. He was going to make his father pay for laying a hand on his little brother. He didn’t care how old Sam was; he was still Dean’s little brother and that meant that Dean would protect him no matter what.

John laid in a bloody heap under Dean, top lip split and mucus running freely from his flared nostrils. His eyes glanced up to Dean, seemingly pleading with him for mercy. Blood bubbled from his lips, staining his teeth bright red. His mouth opened, but all John could give was a weak cough that caused his entire body to tremble.

Dean raised a fist over his end, so overcome with rage that he barely registered what he was doing. All he saw was that there was a threat to Sam and he had to do everything in his power to eliminate it in anyway necessary. John had put them through too much crap for Dean to ignore it anymore. The way he saw it John was a leech on their lives, no matter the good he may have done as a hunter. Often he thought that they would be better off without him.

“Dean!”

A hand hooked around his elbow, pulling it back with such a force that Dean was almost pulled off of John. It took Dean a moment to process what was happening and realize that it wasn’t John who had him in that death grip, but his little brother with frightened light hazel eyes and panicked breathing. He appeared startled to see his brother beating on his father even as his nose continued to bleed steadily down his face.

It took a moment for Dean to give his head a moment to clear his thoughts. He jumped up to his feet while still glaring at John. He watched his father writhe on the ground, groaning at the injuries that his eldest had inflected on him. The high was beginning to wear out and that meant that any injury hurt tenfold what it did when the world was numbed. A pool of blood had pooled under his parted lips, coating the shag carpet in a way that Dean feared would never be able to be cleaned from it. However, that wasn’t his concern. The only thing that he wanted right now was John to leave.

John reached his hands upward to grip onto the edge of the counter to haul himself up. Shaky legs were forced under him, barely able to catch himself before falling. Round eyes met Dean’s fierce glare, horrid silence shared falling on the entire room like a wet blanket. 

Dean took a step toward John, hand pointing toward the door with vigor. “Get the fuck outta here,” he snarled, tone not allowing any room for debate or agreement.

John glanced through swollen eyes from Dean to Sam. Sam looked away almost immediately while Dean held his gaze. He couldn’t back down for fear that John would see that as weakness and use that to his advantage. No one could spot a nick in the armor and exploit it like John Winchester. While it was a great skill to used during hunting, it didn’t make things any easier for Sam and Dean to live with him.

“Go!” Dean slammed a palm down on the fridge, a jolt traveling up his palm and to his funny bone, sending a tingling feeling through him.

John took another moment before dipping his head in defeat. He shuffled forward, unbalanced, and headed over to the door. He took his time as though wondering whether or not Dean or Sam may change their minds. Once it was clear that wasn’t the case, John swung the door open and disappeared, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the walls of the two rooms beside them. 

Once John was gone, Dean turned his attention on Sam. He took his brother by the shoulders and helped him over to his bed, forcing him to sit down. “Keep your nose clamped shut,” Dean mumbled distractedly as he dug around his duffle for the small first aid kit that he kept there. If ever there was a problem with himself or Sam, Dean would prefer to take care of it on his own rather than hope and pray that John had left anything useful in the first aid kit they kept in the Impala.

Dean finally found what he was looking for and pulled the Tylenol from the box. He brought it over to Sam after grabbing a bottle of water from the nightstand. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was Sam’s or his own, but Dean was sure Sam wouldn’t care either way. They were with each other almost every hour of everyday; sharing germs with each other came with the territory. 

Dean took the pills and handed them over to Sam. Sam took them in his palm and tossed them back, chasing it with a swallow of water. It ended up coughing and sputtering on the blood as it tickled the back of his throat. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Dean pulled a bandana from his pocket and forcefully pressed it against Sam’s nose. His hands trembled while his mind raced. “Are you supposed to lean back or forward?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Forward, Dean,” he replied softly. “If you lean back the blood will drain into the stomach and may cause vomiting, remember?”

Dean gave his head a much needed shake, shoulders raised almost frustratedly. “Yeah, yeah, I knew that,” he muttered darkly as he helped his brother pitch forward, nostrils still clamped shut through the bandana. “It’s not like we haven’t had nosebleeds a dozen or so times. What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s probably the adrenaline from trying to kill Dad,” Sam joked with an amused glance over to his brother. He meant it jokingly, but one look at the almost stricken look on Dean’s face told Sam that he hadn’t taken it that way whatsoever. “I-I didn’t mean—“

Dean waved his hand dismissively. “Keep pressure. The last thing we need is another trip to the clinic.” He leaned back and shook out his hand, numbness giving way to pain. He didn’t think that his hand was broken or anything, but it would certainly be sore for the foreseeable future.

“Does it hurt,” Sam mumbled through the bandana, careful not to let up on the pressure and risk more blood gushing out. 

Dean puffed out his chest in pride. “Course not. It takes more than a couple punches to render be inert,” he pointed out.

Sam decided not to comment on it. Dean didn’t show weakness even when it was obvious what was happening to him. He could see the way that his hand kept flexing that he was in pain. But, if it made Dean feel better to ignore it for the time being, Sam would let him. There were only a few times that Dean had ever told Sam when he was sick or injured. Unfortunately, now was not one of those times.

“Dean, can I ask you something,” Sam asked after a moment of silence. Sam had never been good with awkward silences, especially between himself and his brother.

Dean shrugged, fingers still flexing as he tried to force blood flow back into them. There was no doubt in his mind that his knuckles would be bruised tomorrow. “Sure, Sammy. Ask away.”

“Why do you hate Dad so much,” Sam asked hollowly.

Dean was more than surprised to hear those words come out of Sam’s mouth. He was eighteen and ready to leave for college in just a few months. He had seen more than anyone what kind of a bastard John could be, especially when drunk or high. Dean couldn’t fathom why Sam would think anything different than he did when it came to John. However, once in a blue moon, Sam would say something about John that was sure to throw Dean for a loop. Dean sometimes wondered if Sam ever said things to see how his brother would react to it.

“I don’t hate him,” Dean replied. The response threatened to become lodged in Dean’s throat and he fought to keep talking. “I don’t think highly of him either, though. At this point I couldn’t care less what happens to him.”

Sam wasn’t stunned by the revelation. Just because he and his brother didn’t talk about their feelings for John often didn’t mean that Sam didn’t have some inkling of an idea how the other brother felt. Most days Sam despised John just as much as Dean, but he knew that his brother saw more of the darker side of John than he did since Dean was so used to protecting his little brother from their father, even though Sam was technically an adult now. It didn’t matter to Dean how old Sam was, he was going to protect his brother no matter what. 

“And look what he did to you,” Dean continued, lifting the edge of the bandana to check to see if Sam’s nose was still bleeding. “A decent father doesn’t hit his kids. I don’t care how old you are, it’s still wrong.”

“You could’ve killed him,” Sam murmured.

“Would that be such a crime?”

“Dean!”

“What?!” Dean withdrew, hands raised in the air. “He’s just wasted space, Sam! What would the world really be missing if he was gone?”

Sam narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits. “Dad’s a hunter, Dean. He does do good. Maybe not to us, but he does help others.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Dean raised a hand and brushed the pad of his thumb over his lower lip. “I’m just tired, Sammy. I know that he does good, just not to us. I have to remember that sometimes I guess.”

Sam gave Dean a reassuring smile, although it was mostly obstructed by the bandana covering the lower half of his face. “Do you think that Dad would be different without the booze and stuff?”

“I’m pretty certain he would be. Isn’t everyone when they’re off of that stuff?”

Sam gave a nonchalant shrug. “I guess so. Wouldn’t really know.” He began to loosen his grip on his nose and was pleased to find that the bleeding had stopped. Dried blood was still crusted under his nostrils, but at least it wasn’t freely flowing down his face anymore. “Hey, that feels better!”

Dean shot his brother a sideways glance and couldn’t help but snicker. “You look like you got on the business end of a baseball bat.”

“Shut up,” Sam joked, pushing Dean’s shoulders back. Dean went with him, already feeling the tension release from his shoulders. This was how it should be without any talk about John or hunting. Sometimes it was just fun to act like they were everyone else, even if it was for a short while. The average person didn’t have to deal with poltergeists or werewolves on the daily basis or a drunkard for a father. So, anytime that Dean could pretend that wasn’t their lives and think it was just him and Sam was a good time in his eyes.

Dean rose to his feet and motioned over to the TV. “Twister is on next, I think. Wanna watch it?”

“Sure!” Sam reached back and slammed his textbook closed. “Let me just change and get this dried blood off.” The crack to the face Sam took had spurted blood down the front of his shirt. He wouldn’t be comfortable wearing it for much longer, especially if he ended up falling asleep during the movie, which often happened. 

Dean waved him off as Sam snatched a shirt from his duffle and headed toward the bathroom, already pulling his shirt over his head. 

Dean took the opportunity to lean back and take a few deep breaths. His heart was still racing from earlier even though John had left. He never stayed gone for long and there were always repercussions when he got back. Dean didn’t even want to think of the scolding he was sure to get from him. It didn’t matter in Dean’s eyes, though. He had stepped in to protect Sam and that was all that mattered. He would take whatever John could throw at him, whether it be verbal or physical, but no one, absolutely no one, ever would hurt Sam like that and get away with it. Dean would always make sure of that.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was defiantly angst filled, but I wanted to show even sometimes with victims of abuse they can defend their abusers no matter what. I see Dean and Sam flip flop between being angry at John and defending him depending on the situation. I hope you guys enjoyed and are staying safe and healthy!


End file.
